


Like New

by HorribleThing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorribleThing/pseuds/HorribleThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaching God Tier erased all of their scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like New

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago.

I.  
Stupid (always stupid). He had a simple chore to do and he messed it up.  
The doctors said Dad had done such a good job bandaging it that he wouldn’t need stitches. Antibiotic and surgical glue and that was that.  
Months later they made dinner together and Dad hovered, talking about kitchen safety, showing him how to properly hold a knife. And it was so annoying, he could do simple things on his own!  
He thought he wasn’t just a kid, then.  
He presses his fingers to his palm and puts the family photos away.

 

II.  
Broken glass at two in the morning led to the two in the morning decision to clean it up with her hands instead of being sensible and using a broom. But she cut herself and and her hands slipped as they bled and it was so hard to concentrate with Mother crying, so it happened again and again.  
It was the first time she ever took a taxi by herself.  
Sometimes when her fingers pressed against her knitting needles at just the right angle (just the wrong angle) the jolt of sensation on raw nerves healed wrong would sting up to her elbows.

She will never have to hear someone ask, “What happened to your hands?” again.  
(She had been foolish enough to think that would somehow make things easier.)

 

III.  
Fourteen on his hands.  
Nineteen on his arms.  
Three on his knees.  
Two on his back.  
One on his chest.  
One behind his ear.  
One under his chin.  
(Shitty swords, shuriken, firecrackers, mechanical pencil, less shitty swords, garbage disposal accident, kitchen counter corner.)  
All gone.

The game had made him stronger in an instant than Bro ever did.

 

IV.  
It’s like they’ve tried to wipe her clean.  
They’ve sanded down her rough edges, turned her into something whole and bright and sparkling. (She always did like glitter, even if it wasn’t very practical. You don’t have to be practical all of the time!)  
But she still remembers what it’s like to have to give herself stitches with her non-dominant hand. She remembers what it’s like to cut open the bottom of her foot on a broken shell and have to crawl back home, scraping up her legs on the way. She remembers what it’s like to slip and fall into a prickle plant and still be finding thorns days later. What it’s like to feel heat building up under cuts when she’s out of antibiotic and having to wait for the next plane, hoping.  
She still remembers what it’s like to be alone.

(Three years doesn’t change much, in the end.)


End file.
